I Hate You
by DreamingInColour
Summary: Draco has trouble expressing himself to a clueless Harry that doesn't want to listen. Set in Second Year. Oneshot.


Just playing around with the concept of young love. Set in Second Year. Thanks to Lex for her awesome beta.

Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**I Hate You**

* * *

"What is his problem?" Ron scoffed around a mouthful of toast. "I mean seriously, why can't he just get on with his own life?"

"Huh?" Harry grunted, sounding only half interested. His mind had been in the middle of his next Quidditch match against Hufflepuff; their seeker Cedric Diggory, a fourth year, was quick on his broom, but not as light at Harry, who was still a slight twelve year old. He was thinking how best to use this to his advantage.

"Malfoy is staring at you again," Ron grumbled his eyes narrowed and glaring towards the Slytherin table.

"Just forget about him," Harry huffed. He suspected that Ron went on about Malfoy's staring far more than the Slytherin actually did it, besides _everybody_looked at him, what was one more?

"But he does it _all_ the time," Ron whined and Harry wondered why it bothered him so much. "What if he's up to something?"

"Up to what?" Harry challenged, knowing it was a baseless accusation.

"I dunno, what if he's planning on joining forces with the Heir of Slytherin?" Ron suggested, but even he sounded sceptical.

"Ron, we've already found out Malfoy doesn't know anything about the Heir or the Chamber." He rolled his eyes. Why couldn't Ron just overlook Malfoy's stupid pranks like he did? He had decided a few months ago that he'd had enough of Malfoy bothering him all the time and so he'd very maturely decided not to let him get under his skin so much. Malfoy had only increased his attempts to annoy him for the following few weeks, but Harry kept his look of indifference and didn't react. It seemed to have worked at any rate since all Malfoy did now was stare at him.

Harry finished off the last of his cereal and grabbed an apple to take with him so he could eat between History of Magic and Herbology. It was getting close to the beginning of the first class and there was a crowd of students moving out of the Great Hall, he joined the throng and slowly shuffled his way out with Ron grumbling behind him, still put out that Harry didn't engage in his complaining about Draco Malfoy.

"Potter!" Harry heard his name being called from behind him and he turned to see Malfoy jumping up to see him from over the shoulders of some tall Sixth Years. "Potter!"

_Indifferent,_Harry reminded himself and he turned forward and pushed through a few people so he was further away from Malfoy. _Just ignore him._

"Bloody git," Ron grumbled again when they were finally free of the crowd. "What do you think he wants?"

"To insult me probably," Harry shrugged. "Come on, let's hurry we're late." He secured his grip on his books and picked up his pace heading towards Professor Binns' classroom.

* * *

"So, Hermione, did you manage to take notes?" Ron questioned their frizzy haired friend. "I think I fell asleep around the 1479 Peace Treaty with the High Elves."

"It was 1497, Ron," Hermione huffed. "And yes I _did_ take notes, but I don't know why I would give them to you when you don't even _try_ to take them yourself."

"Why would I do that? You take them for me," he replied seriously and she growled at him then took a few hurried strides in an act of defiance so she was walking ahead of them both. They were making their way to double Herbology and Harry was contemplating getting out the apple he'd saved when he heard his name being called the same as he had earlier that morning.

"Potter!"

Harry groaned to himself and wondered if he should just let Malfoy have a few shots at him so he'd leave him alone, but he knew he couldn't; a few shots were never enough for Malfoy. If he let him have one or two, he'd want another hundred more. Harry picked up his pace and Ron and Hermione did the same.

"Potter!"

"He's being rather persistent, Harry," Hermione observed. "You might have to talk to him or you'll be running from him forever."

He huffed petulantly as he realised she was probably right; when was she ever wrong?

He slowed and Malfoy caught up to them, but Harry was still unwilling to let him have his complete attention. "Potter! I've been calling out to you for ages!" Malfoy complained.

"Oh, was that you?" Harry replied disinterestedly.

"Yes, it was. I wanted to-"

"Hold this for me would you?" Harry asked sharply, handing Malfoy his bag.

"-what?" Malfoy frowned. "I'm not your bloody slave, Potter. Get Weasley to do it."

Harry just shrugged and put his bag on the floor as he knelt to his shoelaces. They weren't undone, but he had decided to retie them anyway.

"I wanted to talk to you," Malfoy told him, looking rather uncomfortable. He was clearly put off by the obvious snub Harry was giving him, and the Gryffindor could have laughed out loud. He was pleased that the Slytherin Prince, who was always used to being listened to when he spoke, was finally being put in his place.

"I'm a bit busy today, Malfoy," Harry said, dismissing the Slytherin quickly.

"Doing what?"

"I have class," he shrugged.

"We _all_ have class!" Malfoy snapped angrily.

"Well, then you understand," Harry replied, smiling up at him innocently, while knowing full well how frustrated his enemy had become. He tied the last knot on his shoes and without another word or acknowledgement he walked away from the shocked blond.

"Fine!" Malfoy screeched down the corridor. "Fuck you then!"

"_Mr. Malfoy!_"

Harry turned and laughed uproariously as he watched Malfoy being docked thirty points by McGonagall for swearing.

_Brilliant._

* * *

"You should have listened to him," Hermione said unexpectedly as they ate their lunch nearly two hours later.

"What?" Harry and Ron grunted simultaneously with a mouth full of food and Hermione's upper lip curled in disgust. Sometimes she wondered how she managed to put up with two _boys_for best friends.

"Draco Malfoy," she stated. "What if he had something important to say? What if it was about the Heir or something?"

It was so out of the blue that at first Harry had no idea what she was talking about, but clearly the incident from this morning had been turning over and over in her mind. "Oh come on, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "Why would _Malfoy_ come to _us_with information about the Heir."

"Maybe he'd too scared to go to one of the Professors," she suggested.

"Ha! Yeah right, this is Malfoy we're talking about," Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Why would he say anything at all about it? He's _pleased_this is happening."

"Forget about it, Hermione. Malfoy just wants to remind me I don't have any parents, or that I have an ugly scar on my forehead, or something equally unoriginal and used to death by him and his stupid housemates," Harry shrugged trying to sound casual, but knowing there was a clear bitterness in his voice. He tried to ignore Malfoy as much as he could, but he was still only human and the Slytherin _did_get on his nerves. He just wanted to forget the whole thing and he wished Hermione would just let it go; of course, if she did that she wouldn't be Hermione.

"Do you really believe that?" she challenged him, her lips pursed into a serious line: her McGonagall look; she was trying to intimidate him with it. "He was nervous. When has Malfoy ever been nervous about insulting you?"

"_Hermione,_" Harry hissed in warning, his patience tried and tested. "Just drop it, okay?"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise at his bluntness and she clamped her jaw shut before giving a curt nod. She was upset with him but he didn't care, all he cared about was that she focused on chewing her salad sandwich very carefully for the rest of their meal and didn't say another word about Malfoy.

* * *

Harry might have been annoyed with her for rebuking him, but her words sunk into his conscience nonetheless. He told himself over and over that this was _Malfoy_and the chances of him seeking help from Harry were slim, but his compassion and Gryffindor values would not let him ignore the boy if there was even a slim possibility he was in trouble.

After his afternoon classes Harry went in search of him to offer him another chance to talk to him and to promise he would actually listen this time. He saw him up ahead and called out to him, Malfoy turned and in a reversed case of deja vu, Harry was chasing him through the crowds while he sped up trying to lose him. "Malfoy stop!" Harry demanded and when the blond broke into a jog Harry decided he'd had enough and with a quick charm he had split Malfoy's bag open scattering his books and class notes all over the stone floor.

Malfoy stopped and turned to see all his things spread humiliatingly in the path of other students who were all now staring at him. When Harry caught up, Malfoy shot him a scathing glare. "You're a real arsehole, you know that?" he said as he crouched down, frantically gathering his things as quickly as possible.

"You wouldn't stop," Harry shrugged unapologetically and helped Malfoy to pick up his books. "I wanted to ask you what you needed to talk to me about this morning."

"Forget it," Malfoy spat.

"Was it important?"

"Not to you, obviously," was the answer he received.

"Look, Malfoy, if you need to tell me something important you should just say it," Harry snapped at him angrily. For all the effort the idiotic Slytherin went to in order to get his attention, he was either being stupid and stubborn by refusing Harry's offer to talk now, or he had been overreacting this morning just to piss Harry off.

"I have no interest in wasting my breath on you," he hissed at Harry before turning sharply at stalking off down the hall.

"What a jerk," Harry whispered to himself and just as he was about to turn to head in the opposite direction, he noticed that Malfoy hadn't quite picked up everything he'd lost. His immediate reaction was to leave it there to be trampled, but his conscience once again stepped in and reminded him that it had been he who had split Malfoy's bag in the first place and he should return his stuff, even if the Slytherin was a jerk.

He collected the loose pieces of parchment together and flicked through them, most were rubbish notes and scribbles, but one piece caught his attention for a very specific reason. His name was on it. What would Malfoy be doing with parchment that had his name on it? Upon closer inspection he saw that Malfoy had been trying to write him a letter; his name was written several times in the blond's handwriting, but most of them had been scribbled out.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm not sure how to say this_

Malfoy obviously hadn't been happy with this and had crossed it out.

_To Potter,_

_This might be hard to believe but_

This too had a few thick lines through it.

Harry wasn't sure what Malfoy had been trying to write to him about, but the next attempt had him nearly choking on a gulp of air. It said:

_Harry,_

_I like you. Please don't punch me for it._

This had been scribbled out as well, and underneath Malfoy had written.

_Dear Potter,_

_I hate you. You have ruined my life._

This had not been crossed out.

Harry was severely confused. Did Malfoy _like_him? _Romantically?_Surely not. He hated him. It said so right there, the only section that hadn't been vandalised with black ink. Harry felt much more comfortable with this assessment, and was sure it was the correct one right up until he turned the parchment over to find a finished, ungraffitied letter to him.

_Dear Harry,_

_I've decided I'm not ever going to send this to you so it doesn't matter what I say or how I say it. The truth is I love you and I hate you for it. You're so stupid, and ignorant. You don't know anything about wizarding life. You are quite clearly poor, and you have no family except Muggles. I don't think you've ever owned a comb in your life, and if you have I'm sure you thought it was some kind of elaborate fork and probably tried to eat your eggs with it. Eggs are your favourite thing for breakfast. You eat them every Sunday morning and you always look like you enjoy them much more than the drab cereal or toast we usually get._

_You walk so slow to class sometimes I just want to punch you in the back of the head so you'll hurry up. But I don't, because I like walking behind you. I can stare and you don't see me doing it. I hate that I like walking behind you._

_I hate that I know the most stupid, useless things about you. Like how you drink your tea - half a teaspoon of sugar and lots of milk - or how you hate getting up in the morning because you're always late to breakfast and you always look like you got dressed in a hurry._

_The other day when Pansy was telling everyone how arrogant you were and how you probably started most of the rumours about you just so everyone would talk about you, I wanted to permanently stick her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She doesn't know anything about you. I know you hate it. I've seen you rubbing at your scar like if you did it enough it would go away._

_You've been ignoring me lately and it hurts more than your harsh words ever did. I feel like I don't even exist to you anymore. I'm completely crazy for liking you, I know, and if my father ever knew about this he would kill me. I can't believe I'm gay, this is completely unfair. But worst than that, I can't believe I've fallen for the fucking Gryffindor Golden Boy like some psycho fanboy. I hate you and your stupid, perfect green eyes._

_I wish you'd start insulting me again._

_I've said too much already. Tonight I'll burn this. _

The letter was unsigned, but it was obvious whom it was from. Harry's world was spinning. Draco Malfoy liked him. Draco Malfoy loved him. He felt sort of…flattered.

Harry hadn't even noticed girls yet, let alone boys. He'd never paid attention to anyone in that way. He was only twelve; he hadn't even experienced puberty yet!

Draco Malfoy loved him. How did that even happen?

* * *

Harry had decided that afternoon he would never speak to Malfoy again. He would pretend he'd never read that letter and it would all go away.

Trouble was, he couldn't seem to stop staring at him.

Malfoy had very light blond hair, so light it looked silvery white, but then when he was in the sun, like when he'd been practicing on his broom that afternoon, the rays of the sunset emblazoned his hair almost golden. It was beautiful really. Harry had come across Malfoy at the Quidditch pitch completely by accident, and he'd been professionally duty bound to stay and watch him fly, just so he knew his technique. It would be easier to beat him that way. No other reason. Of course.

"Harry?"

Malfoy also had this odd way of eating. He would cut everything up into little pieces and eat them all one at a time. It was a wonder he wasn't in the Great Hall all night just trying to finish his dinner; in any case, Draco was much more graceful than he was at eating.

"Harry?"

"Huh?" he grunted, still mesmerised by Malfoy wiping at the corners of his mouth with his perfect white napkin.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked him. "Did you speak to Malfoy? Is he up to something? Is that why you're staring at him so hard?"

Malfoy's eyes were the most incredible shade of grey. Harry couldn't see the colour from where he sat, but Malfoy was staring back at him now and somehow he knew his eyes were a silvery grey; he must have noticed once before and remembered.

"Yeah," Harry replied, not really sure what he was agreeing to. When Malfoy got up from the Slytherin table in a huff and stormed out of the Great Hall, Harry knew he had to follow. "Wait here, I'll be right back," he told his friends.

Malfoy was making his way hurriedly down the stairs to the dungeons and likely back to his common room. He was so quick Harry had to run to catch up with him. Even as he chased him and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, even as he pushed him up against the stone wall next to a portrait of a sleepy cat, he didn't know what he was going to do, or what he wanted from the Slytherin git.

He certainly didn't know what to say when Malfoy demanded an explanation. "What the hell are you doing, Potter?" he said, and Harry blanked; what was he doing?

Instead of speaking he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the letter Malfoy had written him. The blond's face drained of colour when he saw what Harry had in his hands and Harry thought he looked more like a ghost than a living wizard.

"I – I – I-" Malfoy stuttered. "'I didn't write that!"

"I think you did," Harry replied, sounding far calmer than he actually was. "It came from your bag. You really should be more careful, Malfoy, you never know who might read it."

Malfoy's knees seemed to buckle under him and he nearly fell to the ground. Harry caught him and held him up to the wall. He still wasn't sure what he was doing, but since he'd been acting on his instincts up to now, he decided to do what felt right, and he pressed his lips innocently against Malfoy's.

Quickly his brain caught up to his actions and he realised he was kissing Draco Malfoy. He pulled back abruptly and Malfoy sank straight onto the floor like a limp rag doll.

"You should be nicer to me, Malfoy," he said, wondering if the blond was even listening to him. "One day I might even like to be friends with you."

He left Malfoy in the corridor, stunned by Harry's actions and gaping like a catfish. As he walked back to the Great Hall where Hermione and Ron were waiting for him, he thought it might be nice if Malfoy weren't such a bully to everyone. If he were nicer, and if he smiled more, Harry could even grow to like him.

For now though, he had bigger things to worry about.

_Kill. Destroy. Maim. Hunt. Kill. Destroy. _

If only he could figure out where that hissing was coming from before somebody was killed…

* * *

That's all from this one. No sequels.

Feel free to review!!

Much love this weekend for Valentines Day.


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